


Alexa, that's not Despacito

by Deisderium



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Demisexual Steve Rogers, Embarassment, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Weekend Brunch, a matched pair of complete ding dongs, omg they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27740644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of no fortune, a tiny two-bedroom apartment, and a very hot best friend-slash-roommate, must be in want of five fucking minutes to himself to get off.*In which Steve watches porn, not realizing that the phone is paired to Alexa. When Bucky hears the opening sounds, he recognizes it as one where the actors happen to look a lot like him and Steve.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 116
Kudos: 599





	Alexa, that's not Despacito

**Author's Note:**

> Happy last month of 2020, y'all! Here's hoping next year is better than this one. 
> 
> Inspired by [this tweet:](https://twitter.com/fesshole/status/1310163531069820928?s=19) "The other day I had a crafty midday shower wank to pornhub on my phone while fam downstairs but the sound didn't work. Later I realised phone was paired to Alexa in the kitchen." 
> 
> other titles under consideration included "heard you like porn" and "bluetooth and blue balls," thank you crinklefries, corarochester, and steebadore

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of no fortune, a tiny two-bedroom apartment, and a very hot best friend-slash-roommate, must be in want of five fucking minutes to himself to get off.

Steve has always known that Bucky is good looking. It had been hard to miss in high school on account of the way that literally everyone in their grade was constantly up on his stuff. Bucky had been the first boy in their class to go on a date, the first boy in their class to kiss someone, the first boy in their class to cause another boy to publically question his sexuality.

It hadn't been Steve—not then.

Bucky had been his best friend, and Steve had been a late bloomer, and when Bucky started dating men in college, Steve had just wished him well and gone about his life. He'd been happy for his friend's journey of self-discovery and too busy on his own voyage of shooting up a foot and packing on some muscle. By the time he'd slowly come to the realization that he was into men, and Bucky specifically, they'd been a year out of college and living together, and Steve was slowly losing his goddamn mind.

Bucky had been a pretty teenager, is the thing, but he's grown up into a stunning man, his jaw square, his eyes slightly creased with laugh lines, his body thick from hours at the gym. Steve knows he has it bad because he could probably write an ode about Bucky's _collarbones,_ and it would be, like, some kind of erotic poetry. Steve knows all of his smiles, all of his likes and dislikes, all of his habits. Familiarity hasn't bred contempt so much a debilitating case of unbridled lust.

And Bucky is oblivious to it all, and why wouldn't he be? Steve has gone out of his way to ensure that he doesn't act any differently. Bucky's never given one sign that he thinks of Steve that way, and Steve doesn't assume that just because Bucky's into guys, it automatically follows that he's into _Steve._

But over the last couple of years, Steve has found that everyone he's tried to date has fallen short of the ideal in his mind. They've simply all possessed the fatal flaw of not being Bucky, and when thinks about the kind of closeness that he wants in a relationship, he thinks about what he has with Bucky, which is absolutely the ideal in his mind, except for the fact that they're friends, not in a relationship. And while he realized a while back that it wasn't really fair to anyone else to keep trying judging them for being someone that they're not, he hasn't come up with a way to _not_ compare them to Bucky, so as a result, he's simply stopped dating for a while.

Unfortunately for him, this has made him unbearably aware of Bucky's physical presence. The way he sits, the way he smells—the way he crosses his arms over his chest drives Steve a little crazy at the thought of the way his shirt strains over his shoulders and hugs his biceps. Steve's never actually been with a man before—a few kisses and a little groping on his dates is where his practical experience ends, for various reasons—but that doesn't stop his imagination running wild.

And it's not like he hasn't done a little research. You should always study before you take a test, right? Not that Bucky is a test! Not that he ever expects to actually be with Bucky anyway. The point is, he might not be in the position to actually touch Bucky's body with his body ever, but he sure can imagine what he's seen in porn.

Has he been watching a lot of porn? Yes. Does he have a preference for a particular kind of porn? Yes. He's found a selection of porn that, well. The actors kind of look like him and Bucky, and that's the truth. Big beefy blonds and big beefy brunets touching dicks in basically every configuration the internet provides. Is it a little weird that Steve's imagining himself and his roommate as some kind of self-inserts (ha) in actual pornography? Also yes.

But, well, needs must when the devil drives and lately Steve's been horny as fuck. It's not like he's ever going to let Bucky know about the boners he inspires, so a little alone time in his room is necessary after, just as a random example, they've gone out for a run and Steve spent half the run behind Bucky, looking at the way his ass clenched and unclenched under his running shorts, until Steve had been forced to race by him and practically sprint back to their apartment so Bucky wouldn't notice his dick chubbing up.  
And now, he hates to admit it, but he has no shame. He's going to watch his favorite porn, the one he's watched dozens of times, because if he squints just right, the dark-haired guy could be Bucky. He knows it practically by heart, and he tells himself it's not pathetic, it's just efficient. He knows it'll wind him up quick, and he can get off and then go be a good roommate instead of a hormonal sex fiend.

He pulls it up on his phone and throws himself on the bed, already hard and needy. Good; this won't take long. He shoves one hand down his shorts and hits play, momentarily annoyed when the sound doesn't work. This is one of the ones with better sound—minimal cheesy dialogue, no pretense at a plot, and no terrible music. Just a lot of moaning and panting. It starts with a blowjob, and Steve frowns, because he really likes the way the guy sounds, and he can't hear him. He turns the sound up, but nothing happens.

He groans, because this is interfering with his alone time. He and Bucky are supposed to get brunch together after they shower, and he needs to get going, although at least Bucky's showering first so he has a _little_ time. He frowns at the bluetooth icon and then remembers pairing his earbuds before their run. Ugh. He left them by the front door, which is fine—it's not like Bucky's going to pick up his stuff, and Bucky's in the shower anyway, so it really doesn't matter. He can handle silent porn—it's not like he doesn't have the damn thing memorized anyway.

He settles back on the bed, phone propped on his chest, and gets to it.

*

Bucky Barnes is not really a morning person. He has made himself, over time, into a reasonable facsimile of one, but it usually takes a lot of coffee and some attempt to force his ass into physical activity. The latter is why he makes himself run with Steve in the mornings, and it's even become a habit on weekends, although, thank god, they leave a little later and he gets a little more sleep.

Saturday brunch with Steve is definitely worth being awake and alert for, he thinks, waiting for the water to boil so he makes coffee and gets that sweet, sweet post-run endorphin caffeine rush. He's cooling down in the kitchen for the aforementioned coffee reason and also because he needs to take a shower, but he can't quite take a shower yet; he needs to cool down more. Is it contradictory to make a coffee while trying to cool down from a run? Yes, yes it is. However, he's got to, and if he were a little smarter about it he would have an iced coffee ready or something, but he isn't and he doesn't. So he's waiting for the hot water to boil, while also gulping down ice water in the hope of getting his core body temperature down before he elevates it again.

He's got the first shower because he needs time to do his hair before they go to brunch. If anyone were to ask, although no one ever has or will, he would tell them that time is to do his hair because he and Steve are going out, and he wants to look good, not for anyone specifically but because when one goes out, one ought to look nice. In his heart of hearts, that is a boldfaced lie. He is dressing up for his weekly brunch with Steve because he wants to look nice for Steve. Every week, he pretends that their brunch is a date. He will never, ever say it aloud to anyone, but in the hot pink diary of his mind, locked away in the very back where no one can find it to open it, written in purple sparkly ink, is the fact that Bucky loves Steve, and has, hopelessly, for ages. The fact that he's pretending is pathetic, he knows that. There's no hiding the fact that he is a grown ass adult who lives with another grown ass adult, and if he wants to make this happen, what he needs to do is actually communicate what he wants, clearly and directly. Not in an imaginary diary, but to Steve himself...but he hasn't done that, and he can't imagine a circumstance where he will.

Steve has never out and out told Bucky that he's asexual or determined to live a life of the mind or dedicating himself to his art or _anything_ like that, but Bucky has been his friend since they were eight, not to mention in love with him since they were, oh, fifteen or so, and he feels certain that his poor little Steve-focused heart would've snatched on any indication of Steve being attracted to anyone, just so that Bucky could make himself miserable comparing that person to himself. Bucky has scrutinized Steve's every interaction with people he thought Steve might like, men and women, but he's never gotten a solid read that Steve was into anyone that way, much less Bucky himself. So Bucky just leaves his little fantasies where fantasies were meant to stay, in the privacy of his own mind, and lets himself think of their Saturday branches as dates as a little indulgence to himself. He's tried to date people besides Steve, and it never seems to work out.

Natasha has told him many times that if he really wants to move on from Steve, he might consider moving out of their apartment. Bucky's never confessed his crush to anyone, but somehow Natasha picked the lock of his mental diary and read all the secrets there anyway. She had told him to think about it, and he had thought about, and after thinking about it, he decided that he was happy where he was, living with the person he loves most in the world. Steve is his best friend, and whether or not Bucky can make himself stop thinking about kissing him, this is where he wants to be.

The water comes to a boil, and Bucky pours it over the grounds in his French press.

"Alexa, set a three minute timer," he tells the device on the kitchen counter.

"Three minute timer, starting now," the device tells him. She's probably spying on him, learning all the terrible secrets of how long he steeps his coffee grounds in addition to logging his every habit as a consumer.

He turns to put the kettle back on the stove eye, stumbles over a corner where the linoleum is curling up, and spills it on the floor. He curses, hopping away from the boiling hot water, and snags a dishtowel. Luckily he avoids burning himself, but truly, it's an epic display of clumsiness and idiocy.

"This is so sad," he mutters. "Alexa, play 'Despacito.'"

The little circle on the device starts swirling blue and he rolls his eyes and gets ready to cancel the song. Getting the device to play "Despacito" stopped being funny about five minutes after they got it. But then, sound starts coming out of the speaker—but it's not "Despacito." It's not a song at all. Bucky freezes in place as he hears a long, drawn out moan.

It sounds—it sounds like—

Bucky bites his bottom lip. Yup, that is definitely porn. The question is—why? Without a doubt, their friend Tony is completely capable of hacking their Alexa to play porn instead of "Despacito," and, the more Bucky thinks about it, it's the kind of thing he would do—but…

Listen, Bucky is a healthy twenty-something who likes sex but has an unfortunate crush on his best friend that makes dating people a little problematic. He's not saying he never gets off with other people, but more and more, lately, he gets off by himself. He's not exactly a connoisseur of the wide world of porn, but he knows what he likes, and he has his favorite videos, and this particular video is one he's played enough to recognize it by soundtrack alone. This exact sequence of moans followed by that particular sequence of groans interspersed with a faint and not intrusive soundtrack—yeah, he knows this one, because he's watched it _often._ And he's watched it often because the actors have a passing resemblance to himself and Steve.

He stares into the distance, more certain than ever that yes, this is _that_ video, the one he's watched more than a handful—ha—of times. Whether or not he imagined that the actors were him and Steve is between him and his right hand, honestly.

But if Tony hacked their Alexa to play this particular video, then that means he's probably invaded Bucky's privacy way more than he's comfortable with. He frowns, working up an interior head of steam about his and his playlist's right to privacy.

Then the sound of the hot blond about to get his dick sucked is interrupted by a beep and, "Your three minute timer is done."

Bucky swears and presses down the plunger on his French press. He's not really thinking about coffee, though, as much as how Tony could have figured out what kind of porn he likes to watch when—

"Resuming Steve's phone," Alexa tells him. And that—oh shit—

"Sweet fancy fuck," Bucky gasps. He had picked up the press to pour it into his coffee mug and he has to set it right back down. "Jesus fucking Christ."

He's not swearing about the hot coffee. Steve is watching gay porn? Steve is watching Bucky's favorite gay porn? Steve is watching Bucky's favorite gay porn where the actors look a lot like Steve and Bucky?

Bucky pours his coffee with unsteady hands and takes a sip.

Steve is such a dumbass he fucking hooked up his phone to Alexa while he was watching Bucky's favorite gay porn with actors who look a lot like Steve and Bucky?

Bucky has questions. Bucky has so many questions.

Bucky also has an existential crisis and a boner, because Steve is watching Bucky's favorite gay porn.

He takes his coffee and heads for the shower, trying to figure out how he's going to keep his cool, like, at all when he knows that Steve is rubbing one out before brunch to actors that look like him and Bucky.

Frankly, maybe Bucky ought to follow his lead.

*

Steve feels a lot more relaxed by the time they leave the apartment for brunch. He scoops up his earbuds on the table by the door, shaking his head at himself, and runs a hand through his hair to make sure it's not sticking up or looking stupid.

Bucky's hair, he can't help but notice, seems a little bit less put together than usual. He favors fancy braids for weekend brunch, for some reason, but all he's done today is pull his hair up into a messy updo—but then, Steve has long since realized that he knows nothing about Bucky's hair and what goes into making it look as wonderful and soft and touchable as it always does. For all he knows, this is secretly a complicated hairstyle held together with fifteen pins that took just as long as the waterfall braid that Bucky had worn last weekend.

"Your hair looks nice," he says, because that's always true. It does look nice.

For some reason, that makes Bucky flush self-consciously and touch a hand to his hair. He must be trying something new, Steve thinks.

They're a little quieter on the subway than usual, but the car is crowded with a bunch of teenagers all talking at what feels like the top of their lungs, so Steve doesn't think too much of it.

Their usual brunch spot has an outdoor patio and delicious pictures of champagne mixers. (Well—prosecco mixers. Steve and Bucky are on a budget.)

Steve flicks open the menu as they sit at their favorite table, even though he knows he's going to get the same thing that he always does. "What do you feel like today?" he asks. "Mimosas or bellinis?"

"Bellinis, I think," Bucky says after a slightly long pause. He doesn't even make a stupid joke about all the sugar they're about to drink being the reason why Steve gets up so early to run. Steve frowns at the silence, wondering if he's thinking about one of the specials, but when he looks up, Bucky is looking at him, not the menu.

"Do I have something on my face?" Steve asks, rubbing a hand over his chin to make sure he didn't miss a spot shaving.

"Just your nose," Bucky says, but it feels half-hearted. Steve wonders if he's coming down with something.

Steve sips his bellini slowly, savoring the peach flavor and the fizz of the sparkling wine. Bucky is a little off all the way through the appetizers. Steve can't figure it out, but something is obviously bothering him. After the waiter clears away their beignets and maple bacon, Steve can't stand it anymore. They've always talked to each other about everything, just about, and Bucky not talking to him now is making him think that he's the problem.

"Is something bothering you?" he asks. "Is it something I did?"

Bucky fiddles with his fork, watching the way the light reflects off the tines rather than look at Steve. "It's stupid," he finally says.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Steve asks gently. Whatever it is, it's obviously bothering Bucky a lot. Steve can't imagine what it is—Bucky's quit his job because he caught the boss stealing. Bucky's accidentally drunk-sponsored a whale again. One of Bucky's exes sexted him and he panic replied. That one makes Steve's chest twinge, just the presentiment of an ache, so he stops thinking about it. Bucky will tell him, most likely.

"After our run," Bucky begins, and then whatever conversational train was about to leave the station suddenly hits a snag and stops in its tracks.

"After our run," Steve agrees, and tells his face not to blush as he thinks about how he spent his pre-shower time. They're both quiet for long enough that Steve takes a gulp of his bellini. "What is it, Bucky?"

Bucky sighs and visibly forces himself to look at Steve. "Your phone was paired with the Alexa speaker in the kitchen."

Steve feels the blood drain from his face. He's so fucking embarrassed, but god knows, it could have been worse. it could have been anyone besides Bucky. He lets his head fall to the table with a clunk anyway.

"Bucky, I am so sorry," Steve groans. He wants to sink into the earth, or at very least drown himself in this half-empty pitcher of bellinis. "My only consolation is that it's you, so I want to die of embarrassment point oh-two percent less than I would if it was anybody else, but God, Bucky… I am so, so sorry." Steve's is certain that the heartfelt nature of what he's saying is only partially marred by the fact that he's directing it to the table top instead of Bucky's face, but he can't look at him right now. How much did he hear? Probably enough to know that it was a video of two dudes. The moaning and groaning is distinctly male sounding, although some women have low voices, so maybe—

—no, Steve knows better than that. Unless Bucky turned it off, like, immediately, he'll have probably picked up on the fact that it was gay porn, no women involved whatsoever.

"How much of it did you hear?" Steve mumbles to the table, without giving Bucky time to reply to him.

"Enough," Bucky says with a sigh.

Steve replies with a sigh of his own, then tells himself to suck it up and just say it. He's a lot of things, but he's never been shy about confronting… Well, anything. Even if it's embarrassing. Even if it's personal.

"This is not how I planned on coming out to you," he says, and then makes himself lift his face from the comforting shelter of his forearms. Bucky deserves better than a best friend who hides himself in the table while he's making painful personal confessions to him. Besides, the table feels a little sticky, and Steve doesn't want to contemplate what might be making it feel that way.

Bucky is looking at him, of course, and Steve takes a deep breath and tries to make himself meet his best friend's eyes. Bucky looks surprised, and maybe a little… hurt? Oh God, Steve never kept a secret like this from him before. Fuck. He feels like a jerk.

"So... you were planning on coming out to me," Bucky says slowly.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve says. "Of course I was." He can feel himself blushing, but people blush when they get caught watching porn, right? Even though most people do it, probably, it's private, and not something you want your roommate to be forced to listen to on a Saturday morning. The fact that this particular video was chosen because one of the dudes happens to look like said roommate… That probably doesn't need to be shared. Some secrets are meant to be kept.

When Bucky doesn't say anything, Steve figures he ought to expand on this a little bit. "You're my best friend, Bucky. I just… I feel like I've barely figured this out for myself. I hardly know how to talk about it, but if I was gonna talk to someone, it would be you."

Bucky softens at that, the edges of his mouth untensing from the hard line they'd been and to a tentative smile. "You know," he says slowly, "I had about decided you were asexual." He glances at Steve and then hastily adds, "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."

Steve feels himself burning an even brighter crimson. "No, just…" How to put it? "It's not that I've never gotten any offers, it's just that I have to really like someone before I feel attracted to them, and a lot of times it feels… superficial. Like it's not really me they want." He doesn't have to review his medical history for Bucky—Bucky was there for it. "I never think they would have wanted to...before." Before he'd bulked up. Before he was tall and muscular and conventionally attractive. Steve doesn't think he has a chip on his shoulder about this, but maybe he does.

"Anyone who wouldn't have asked you out before is an idiot," Bucky says firmly, and Steve makes himself smile even though it's demonstrably not true because _Bucky_ never asked him out. But that was all a long time ago, and Steve doesn't want to make things weird. Why would Bucky have asked him out, anyway? He's just only realized that, as the kids say, Bucky is a snack.

"Jesus, this is so embarrassing." Steve picks up the champagne flute with his bellini and it and drains the whole thing in one gulp. "It's so fucking embarrassing that now you know what kind of porn I like to watch."

"Not as embarrassing as the fact that I identified it from the opening moans," Bucky mutters, and then he freezes.

They stare at each other across the table for a long, fraught moment. Steve can't quite believe his ears. Bucky recognized the video that he was watching, so presumably, he himself has watched that same video. Surely not for the reasons that Steve was watching it, but…

"So, just to be clear… You've watched that one before?" Steve says carefully. His hand reaches over to grab the pitcher of drinks, seemingly without his conscious volition, and he pours them both another. He wonders if he's disassociating.

Bucky tries to speak, but then has to clear his throat and try again. When he finally does manage to speak, all that gets out is a strangled, "Yeah."

"Enough times that you know it just from the sounds of the opening scene," Steve goes on.

"Yeah," Bucky repeats. It's a little weaker this time.

"Well, I guess at least we both know that the other one has good taste in porn," Steve says, and then winces. What kind of a stupid ass thing is that to say to someone, much less someone he likes and wants to put his mouth on?

"Yeah," Bucky says for a third time, punctuating it with a short nod. It seems like maybe that's the only thing he can say right now, and frankly, Steve can't blame him. His brain feels a little broken too. Bucky seems to realize that maybe he could be contributing more to this conversation, because he adds, "It's one of my favorites." Then he winces, as though forced to confront the words that just came out of his mouth. If Steve had ever wondered if they’re right for each other, maybe it's a sign that they're compatible not only in terms of the sex they like to watch, but the complete and utter idiocy that both of them have a terminal case of.

"Buck," Steve says hesitantly, trying to think of a way he can pick through the conversation that's in front of them. Then he thinks—no. Delicately picking his way through a conversational minefield is not exactly his style. Bullheaded rushing in and setting off any traps is more his speed. And—it's Bucky. If he's wrong—if Steve's completely off base—Bucky will let him down easy. He's his best friend, and nothing's going to change that. For the exact same reason that Steve was relieved that Bucky was the one to have overheard his porn soundtrack, if anyone had to, he knows that even if Bucky doesn't feel at all the same way, they'll make it through Steve's abject humiliation. They're just that solid.

He takes a deep breath. "I don't want to presume, but…there's a reason that video’s my favorites."

Bucky is flushing pink, and Steve is certain that his own face has gone that blotchy, unattractive red that it turns when he's embarrassed. He can feel it, his cheeks and his ears both burning so hot that he could probably fry their brunch on his face, if he tried. "Yeah?" Bucky says, and then his face contorts as he hears what he just said.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Steve says. "No hard feelings if this is too much—just tell me, and I'll shut up about it forever. But the reason I like that video so much is that one guy kind of looks like you."

Bucky's eyes go wide, and Steve thinks he can practically see the realization hit him. He pales, but he’s still blushing, and the red on his cheeks stands out even more because of it. "Is that so?" His eyes travel from Steve's face down his torso and then back up again. Bucky picks up his champagne flute and downs half his bellini. "Well, I like it because the other guy kind of looks like you."

Steve opens his mouth, because this really seems like it means something, and he wants to tell Bucky exactly what he thinks it means, but at that moment, their waiter returns with Bucky's french toast and Steve's breakfast burrito. Steve's never wanted to murder someone more, even though this lady waits on them every week and ordinarily he loves her.

The server puts down their food, and Steve picks up his fork, although the last thing he's really interested in at the moment is his food. Bucky seems to be feeling something similar, because he's got his knife clutched in his hand like he's about to stab Steve with it. He's staring at Steve wide eyed, and frankly, he looks a little bit wild. That's okay; Steve suspects he probably looks a little bit wild himself.

Steve clears his throat. "Seems kind of crazy, doesn't? You and me, in rooms right next to each other, jerking off to each other by proxy?"

"Oh Jesus Christ, Steve." Bucky goes to cover his face with his hands, and nearly stabs himself with his knife. He glares at it, and puts it down. "For the record, in all the years I've thought about how you and I might talk about our feelings for each other, this was never in the running."

"Tell me more about these feelings," Steve says. He knows he's grinning like a fool. He can't help it.

"Fuck you," Bucky says, but he's grinning too.

"That was gonna be the next thing I was gonna suggest," Steve says.

Bucky drinks the rest of his drink and sets the glass back down. His grin flattens out as he expression gets more serious. "The thing is, I won't be able to handle it if you don't mean it, Steve."

"I mean it," Steve says. "I wouldn't fake this. I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know you wouldn't," Bucky says. "But you can't blame me for being nervous."

"You don't need to be nervous." Steve slides his hand across the table, fingers open in what he hopes is an obvious invitation. Despite his own words, his heart is pounding like he's running a race, and he feels nervous as hell. "It's just me, and I'm crazy about you."

"Crazy about me, huh." Bucky reaches across the table and meets Steve halfway, curling his fingers around Steve's. "How long has this been going on?"

"I don't know," Steve says, squeezing his hand. "About a year? Maybe more? It came on slow, I guess. I didn't wake up and suddenly fall in love with you. It was more like I woke up and realized I'd been in love with you for a really long time."

"You didn't say anything," Bucky says. Steve could point out that neither had he, but he guesses maybe one of them needs to say it out loud.

"I didn't want to fuck up what we have. I didn't realize until just now that I don't think we will fuck it up. Even if it doesn't work out, you mean so much to me, I'd never let our friendship just…" He waves his free hand to indicate, he guesses, someone letting their oldest and dearest friendship wither away just because boning their best friend didn't work out.

"Neither would I," Bucky says, voice thick. "You mean the world to me, and you would even if I wasn't in love with you."

"Do you want to try it?" Steve refills their glasses with the rest of the pitcher and raises his in an invitation to toast. "You and me?"

Bucky gives him the sweetest smile, and raises his glass. "Here's to us."

*

Bucky Barnes is the happiest man alive. Bucky Barnes is also, coincidentally, the most sexually frustrated man alive.

The month since he and Steve decided to try dating has been the happiest in his memory. Steve and he have gone on dates, taking each other out to dinner and to their favorite places, and have just spent time together, the way they always do, but with more kissing.

Kissing Steve is a revelation. His lips are the softest and fullest that Bucky's ever had the pleasure of putting his own lips on, and he kisses like a dream. Bucky would be lying if he said that these weren't the only lips he wants to kiss for the rest of his life. The only thing is that Steve is being a complete gentleman. Not that that's a problem! Bucky loves gentlemen, and he loves Steve. But, they're not teenagers, and he's hoping to get past first base before he dies. It's been a month.

An amazing month! The kind of month that Bucky had only dreamed of. But when they have movie dates, they might kiss and make out on the couch—which is wonderful—but that's where it ends. He's gotten familiar enough with Steve's erect dick that he can safely say he knows he's not gonna be able to sit down for a week if he ever fuck.

But given that the catalyst for their relationship was literally them finding out that they were watching porn because the actors looked like each other, their relationship so far has been unbearably chaste.

They had talked about it, of course, and Steve had said that he wanted to be careful, both because they're best friends and because they live together. He'd wanted to be sure they didn't rush into anything that either of them might regret. Bucky had agreed, completely besotted and ready to agree with nearly anything Steve said.

That, however, had been weeks ago. He doesn't want to rush Steve, and if Steve's not ready, or has changed his mind, Bucky will be fine with that. But on the off chance that he's doing this for Bucky's sake—well, Bucky is ready to progress their relationship to the next phase, particularly if the next phase includes getting dicked down.

Because Bucky is nothing if not patient when he needs to be, he waits until they've had dinner—it's his night to cook, and he's made Steve's favorite pasta, and served a pretty nice bottle of red wine with it, so Steve is hopefully relaxed and happy and ready to hear Bucky's thoughts on the state of their bedroom activity or lack thereof. They move to the couch, for an after-dinner coffee, and probably a little after-dinner necking.

"I know you said you wanted to take it slow," Bucky begins.

Steve leans back, but his eyes are sparkling with amusement and affection. "You still okay with that?"

"Kind of," Bucky admits. "I guess I'm a little…"

"A little what?" Steve says.

"I'm a little afraid that maybe you've changed your mind about me," Bucky says. "Not about caring about me—God, Steve, you make me feel so loved. But about having sex with me."

The smile has entirely slipped from Steve's face. He looks at Bucky, the line between his eyebrows that always makes him look like such a worrier creasing his forehead. "Oh, Buck, I want you. If I've made you doubt that, I've fucked up."

"If you're nervous about it, or don't want to, that's fine," Bucky says, although it's maybe not as fine as he's trying to make it sound. But he's at least a little reassured by Steve's quick rebuttal. "I just want to be sure that take it slow really just means take it slow, not that you don't want me that way."

"Oh God," Steve says. He puts his big, warm hand on Bucly's arm, and Bucky takes comfort in the reassuring touch. "I'm an idiot."

"Not that I'm arguing," Bucky says, "but could you give me a little context?"

"I want you," Steve says. It's his very serious, very deep, I'm-talking-about-something-very-important voice, which Bucky usually hears talking about the need for healthcare reform, or defunding the police. It's ridiculous how much of a turn on it is to hear it directed to the topic of Steve's desire for him.

"Go on," Bucky says encouragingly.

"I think about touching you all the time," Steve continues, still in that gravelly voice. "You basically turn me into a walking erection. I haven't been this horny since I was a teenager."

Steve's eyes are very blue, and very dark right now. His pupils get bigger as he leans closer to Bucky. Bucky licks his lips, and Steve's gaze drops to his mouth, tracking the movement of his tongue. "You don't know what you do to me." Steve takes his hand off of Bucky's arm, and drops it to his lap, flattening the fabric of his jeans so Bucky can see the outline of his dick. It's big, and very clearly hard. A thrill of satisfaction zings up Bucky's spine.

"Then why—"

Steve leans in and kisses him. This kiss is not the same as the other kisses they've shared. It's still sweet, it's still loving, but it's also hungry. Steve kisses him like he wants to consume him, and Bucky can't get enough of it. Steve's hands wander down his side, dig into his hips in a bid to pull him closer. When they break apart, Bucky's breathing heavily, and he's pleased to see that he's not the only one.

"I don't want to fuck this up," Steve says. "I don't have any experience doing this with a man before, and not a lot of women either, so I guess I've been worried that I'll do something wrong or it won't be what you expected…" He trails off, then shakes his head hard. "But I don't want you to feel like you're not wanted, Bucky, because that's the farthest thing from the truth."

The words go a long way to soothe Bucky's own anxieties. "Steve, that's stupid," Bucky says.

"Thanks for the encouragement," Steve says with a wry smile.

"It's going to be amazing because it's you," Bucky goes on. "I don't care how many notches you've got on your bedpost or not. All I care about is you and I wanting to make each other feel good because we care about each other and we're hot for each other. That's what matters."

Steve's smiling again, and Bucky basks in it like it's his own personal ray of sunshine, warming him up from the inside out. "Well, I am hot for you," Steve says, then kisses the corner of his jaw.

"How hot for me?" Bucky asks. "I'd like it in degrees Kelvin, please."

"You are such a nerd," Steve complains, but he's smiling and dropping kisses in a line along Bucky's collarbone, so Bucky doesn't think he really minds that much.

"You like it," Bucky says, feeling much more confident in that statement than he had thirty minutes ago.

"Yeah, I like it," Steve says. He drapes his large body along Bucky's, pressing into him like he wants to merge them into one big amoeba. "I'm hot for you whatever the opposite of absolute zero is. Absolute boiling point."

"We've now said the words hot for you so many times that they've lost all meaning to me," Bucky complains, but he doesn't really mind.

"Maybe I should stop talking and just show you then," Steve says.

"I thought you were nervous," Bucky says softly. He rubs his thumb along the line of Steve's jaw. "I don't want to pressure you into something you're not ready for. Don't let me do that."

"You’re not pressuring me," Steve says firmly. "I'm just nervous because I don't want to fuck things up between us."

"You can't fuck this up," Bucky says. He curls his fingers around the collar of Steve's shirt and tugs him gently closer, trying to be as reassuring to Steve as Steve was to him. "There's nothing to be nervous about. It's me—it's us. If something doesn't work, we'll just laugh about it and try again later."

"Don't laugh too hard," Steve whispers, but he's smiling, and he moves then to kiss Bucky like he had before—hot and consuming.

Bucky lets himself fall into the kiss. It's easy. He's more comfortable than Steve than he is with anyone else, but this feeling between them is so new, it's not comfort that it brings. He feels hot, like he's burning up from the inside, and the only thing steadying him is the knowledge that Steve feels the same way.

Because Steve isn't holding back. Steve's not going slow. His hands rove over Bucky's side and back, pausing to trace the shape of his rib cage, the line of his hips. Steve slides his hand under Bucky's shirt, and traces a path up from the hem to his sternum. Steve's thumb traces over Bucky's chest muscles, catching on his nipple, and Bucky gasps in a breath. It feels good, and it feels like there's a line directly between his chest and his dick. He arches up into the touch, breath coming up faster, harsher.

His cock is hard in his jeans, and it's not the most comfortable, but the constraint is its own kind of pleasurable ache, along with the knowledge that one way or another, it'll be resolved. If Steve decides he's more comfortable just making out again after all, it won't be the first time Bucky's finished an evening of the two of them together by jerking off in his room.

But Steve seems determined, and Bucky guiltily hopes he doesn't feel like he's got something to prove, but it feels so good, his hands gripping Bucky's hips, then the meat of his ass. His lips suck bruises onto Bucky's skin, and then they're kissing again, intense and so, so good. Steve digs his fingers further into Bucky's ass, and pulls him closer, then closer still. Bucky makes a surprised noise; he always forgets how strong Steve really is until he does something like this—bodily hauls Bucky off the sofa and onto his lap. Bucky grabs onto his shoulders as Steve moves him, and he can feel his muscles flexing, his biceps flexing and his deltoids tensing. Maybe Bucky's shallow, but it's hot, so sue him.

Bucky finds himself astride Steve's lap, his knees digging into the couch cushions as Steve pulls him impossibly closer. Bucky groans into Steve's mouth, and he can feel Steve smile against his lips.

There's no reason for Bucky to keep his hands to himself, so he doesn't, letting them wander over Steve's ridiculous chest, finding his small, hard nipples through his shirt. He leans down to mouth at one of them, licking through Steve's shirt. Steve makes a strangled sound, like he's never felt anything this good, and then his abs flex as he pulls his shirt off.

Bucky's seen Steve's shirtless before, of course. He's very familiar with the dusting of dark gold hair that covers his pecs and trails down to the waistband of his jeans. He traces that line with his finger, thinking absently about doing the same with his mouth, then leans down to suck on Steve's nipple without a shirt between his mouth and the skin. Steve's back bows up and his hands scrabble at Bucky's sides, and Bucky feels ridiculously smug about it.

"You should take your shirt off," Steve says, and his voice is hoarse. Bucky wastes no time in obeying, pulling his t-shirt up over his head. He's not as thick as Steve, but then again very few people are. Bucky puts in his time at the gym, and if he was feeling self-conscious about the way he looks compared to Steve, all it takes is seeing the way Steve's eyes darken with desire to cure him of that insecurity.

"God, Bucky," Steve says. "I don't know what took me so long."

"We're here now," Bucky tells him, and drops his hand to the top button of Steve's fly. "This okay?" he asks.

"Please," Steve says hoarsely.

They both take a slow, almost synchronized breath as Bucky pops open Steve's fly. Bucky slides his hand in, over Steve's boxers. He can feel the hard, hot length of him, heat radiating through the thin cotton. Steve heaves in a deep breath that does interesting things to his chest. Bucky can't think about that right now, though, because he's on a mission. He slides his hand up and down Steve's cock, over his boxers, trying not to act too self-satisfied when Steve draws in a shaky breath. The angle is awkward and not the best because of Steve's pants, but that's okay. Bucky has plans to get him out of them.

But for now, he just strokes him, rubbing as best he can through the fabric, listening to Steve's breath and the quiet, shuddering sounds that he makes.

"I'm so turned on right now," Steve whispers.

"Oh, fuck," Bucky says back, "I am too."

Steve rests his fingers on Bucky's waistband, then looks up to catch Bucky's eye, clearly asking permission. Luckily for both of them, Bucky couldn't be more into the idea of Steve getting his hands in his pants. Steve undoes his fly, and Bucky lets out a soft sigh of relief Steve slides his fingers under the waistband of Bucky's boxer briefs, ghosting over the sensitive skin between his bellybutton and his dick. Steve moves slowly, so slowly.

"Tease," Bucky murmurs, his voice ragged.

"You like it," Steve says, and then gets his fingers on the evidence of just how much Bucky likes it. Bucky lets his head fall back and moans as Steve traces a line over his cock. Steve followed his lead, Bucky realizes, keeping his fingers over the fabric.

"Is it weird?" Bucky asks.

Steve looks up, that worried little line on his forehead making an appearance. "Is what weird?"

"Touching another man's cock," Bucky says.

Steve goes a very fetching shade of bright pink, but he doesn't pull his hand back, and he doesn't stop moving. "It's not weird," he says. "It's hot. But I don't think it's because it's someone else's dick—it's because it's you."

Well, what can Bucky say to that besides to kiss him?

They neck and grind against each other for a while, hands down each other's pants, until Steve murmurs against Bucky's mouth, "You know, this might be easier if we took our clothes off."

There's some standing up and sitting down and jostling about as they take their pants off—Bucky wishes there were a way to make it sexier, but it's really just kind of awkward. But then they're both naked and Steve's sitting on the couch, legs spread, blushing so hard it's traveling down his chest. His legs are splayed out, and his cock is hard, and frankly, he looks so inviting that Bucky just climbs back onto his lap.

They both groan as Bucky straddles him. Bucky's felt Steve's dick through his clothes, tonight, of course, but also when they've been making out, at least in passing, so he knew that it was going to be big. But now he gets to see it, gets to wrap his hand around it, rub his thumb over Steve's frenulum and through the drop of pre-come beading at the tip. Steve moans, reaching out to run his hands up Bucky's bare thighs, and all of it is so good that Bucky already feels on edge. He takes a deep breath and swallows hard, determined not to spill immediately. He wants this to last, wants to make it good for Steve.

He angles his hips so their dicks are lined up, and wraps his hands around them both. He runs his hands slowly down both of their lengths, his gaze darting back and forth between Steve's face, and their cocks sliding in and out of his grip. If Bucky were truly prepared, he'd have some lube, but while the first few strokes are dry, there's enough pre-come from both of them that Bucky is able to get his hand wet enough that the next stroke slides down them both.

God, it feels good. He's not quite sure how he would describe the velvety feel of the skin of Steve's cock against his own, slipperier by the moment, both of their skin blood-hot, a silky contrast to the rougher skin of his fingers.

Both of Bucky's hands are busy, stroking up and down them both—one hand would hardly have fit—but Steve's hands are free. At first, he just rubs them up and down Bucky's thighs, over the crest of his hips, head bent, apparently mesmerized by the slide of their cocks in and out of Bucky's hands. But then he looks up, and their eyes meet, and Bucky wishes he could pin this moment like a butterfly. Steve's face is the most familiar to him in the world, maybe more familiar than his own, but this is a new expression on it: lust-drunk, but also almost awed, lips parted, eyes dark with desire and soft with love. Bucky would frame it, if he could, but since he can't… He'll just have to settle for putting that expression on Steve's face as often as he can.

For all Bucky's thoughts about wanting it to last, it feels too good. He starts rocking his hips in time with the strokes of his hand, thrusting up against Steve. He wants to drag it out, but Steve looks and sounds like he's barreling towards the precipice just as fast as Bucky is, so he just promises himself that they'll take their time next time. He feels Steve's cock pulse against his own, and a moment later Steve comes, shooting up onto his own belly. Bucky gives him one last stroke, then braces his left hand on Steve's hip and jacks himself with his right. It's only a few seconds longer—a few seconds after seeing the hottest thing in his or anyone's life—before he's coming, too. Bucky's ab muscles clench, his cock pulses, and he makes a mess of Steve. Well, more of a mess than he already was.

They cling to each other, skin sheened with sweat, breath slowing.

"Was that all right?" Bucky asks. He thinks it was; he hopes it was. But the nice thing about Steve is that there isn't really anything he can't just ask him, so he does.

Steve reaches up and threads his fingers through Bucky's hair, gently tugging him down to a kiss. "That was fantastic," he says. He kisses Bucky again. "How about for you—was it good?"

Bucky had thought about teasing him, but since there's a hint of uncertainty on his face, he can't. "Best thing that ever happened to me," he says. He gives them a moment; both of their mouths are curving up into terribly sappy grins. He loves it. "Besides you linking your phone to the speaker while you were watching porn," he adds.

Steve snorts a laugh, then kisses him again. "I’ll take it," he says. “It was deeply embarrassing, but it got me here with you.”

And, well, Bucky can't argue with that. 


End file.
